The Heart of Mr Holmes
by xxNellxx
Summary: When a woman moves into 221A, she soon befriends those from 221B. Though hiding her feelings for the tall man in the coat & scarf is harder then what she thought- especially when she is given a deed in which could cost more then one life and one heart- OC
1. The Tall and Short

**Chapter 1 **

**The tall and the short**

She was sitting on the edge of one of the fountains on Trafalgar square, camera in hand. She sighed, a happy sigh, before placing the camera to her face and positioning it directly at Nelson's column and clicking the button. She was finally here, in London, her favourite place in the world. She was here on business- she was writing for a new magazine…20 page special on London. She didn't really know why, but it was pay and she new she'd enjoy it. Her boss had rented a flat for her stay, she'd already been to the flat earlier on, but it was only for a few minutes; throwing her two suitcases onto the bed and then she'd rushed off out to catch a taxi to Trafalgar square. Turning her head round to face the gallery she watched as a man in a long black coat and a blue scarf made his way down the stone steps, another man, slightly shorter and lacking behind by at least two steps bickered in the other taller man's ear. Switching her attention to the gallery she clicked the button on the camera and there was a quick flash and then she turned back to face the column.

*DING*DONG*

Big Ben started to chime for one o'clock in the afternoon and sighing (this time sadly) she decided to make a move and go catch a taxi back to the flat. Slipping off the edge of the fountain she almost bumped into the shorter man whom she'd watched for about a second only a minute ago. He quickly said sorry and picked up his pace to catch up with the taller man in the coat. Her ears picked up a little of what the shorter man had been saying-

"So it's a murder then, great case solved?"

No, surely she'd been wrong. They certainly didn't look like policemen, strange. Oh well, it didn't concern her, she shrugged and made her way off the square.


	2. There's nothing to do

**Chapter 2**

**There's nothing to do**

"Lestrade seemed pleased that this one was over with." John said placing his coat neatly over a chair and heading straight for the fridge. He placed his hand upon the fridge door and turned to face Sherlock who was lying on the sofa…bored already that he had no case to work on. "You did get rid of that head didn't you, from out of the fridge?" He hesitated waiting for Sherlock's answer. He heard his flatmate sigh before giving him the answer.

"Don't worry it's perfectly safe." Sherlock said sighing at John- he often got on his nerves sometimes.

"Great." John swung open the fridge and grabbed the cheese, he hadn't had anything to eat all day, Sherlock had dragged him out of bed and made him catch a taxi to Scotland Yard and inform Lestrade on events from the previous case. "Do you want any dinner?" He offered calling into the living room. Sherlock didn't so much as sigh, he shut his eyes slowly as if shutting himself out from the world (and shutting himself out from John's constant un-wanted chatter.) Waiting with the bread in his hand, John tilted his head towards the living room and eyed Sherlock who lay motionless on the sofa. "I take that as no then."

John slouched into the opposite sofa and tucked into his cheese on toast whilst Sherlock loaded his gun in silence. "What are you doing that for now?" He asked Sherlock as he watched his hands dance around the gun like lightening. Sherlock looked up sharply and pulled a face.

"Bored." He made the word last long and then he turned his attention back to loading the gun.

"Oh no, don't you be taking it out on the wall- we've already got to pay extra for the last time you did it!" John scolded as he remembered running up the stairs to 221B to the sound of gun shots. Mrs Hudson was not too pleased.

"There's nothing to do around here!" Sherlock growled slamming his fist against the sofa and rolling his eyes. John was used this kind of behaviour from him now and so he chose to ignore him. "Look at you, sitting there without a care in the world, your little brain ticking away, well mine is not that easy to entertain, it's rotting John it's rotting! I need another case, can I use your phone to call Lestrade?" His words were so forced and irritated that John shook his head and pushed his phone deeper into his pocket. Sherlock had to learn that he was no longer going to be a push over.

"Did you disinfect the fridge after you disposed the head?" He asked with panic. Sherlock's face was emotionless.

"No, why?" He replied innocently. John's face went white as he spat out his food and glared at Sherlock.

"Blooming hell Sherlock!"


	3. A & B

**Chapter 3**

**A & B**

Page Santos made her way up the stairs to 221A; she fumbled for the key in her pocket before she unlocked the door and stepped inside her flat. It was pleasant enough, though nothing about it resembled her. She was sure Mrs Hudson had had someone redecorating- the flat smelled like a DIY shop and the walls and carpets were lovely girlish colours and there was no sign it'd been lived in previously. It seemed fairly new, obviously it wasn't though. She took out her hair bobble and let her long dark brown hair flow. Now that she was inside she would be able to relax. Un-zipping her cases she started to un-pack.

Later that evening Page decided she'd go for a walk around the block, she couldn't resist the city of London- all the swanky buildings, not to mention all the history. Grabbing her denim jacket and slinging her camera around her neck, Page opened the front door and stepped out onto the landing. Skipping down the stairs she stood on the landing outside 221B. For a moment she hovered outside the door, she could here voices, arguing she thought. Shaking her head with a smirk she let herself press on- SMACK! Page stumbled out the way as the door hit her side. The man who'd come out of 221B frantically slammed the door shut and went straight to Page's aid. Clutching her side she cursed under her breath.

"I'm so sorry, are you alright…I didn't know you where there. I'm really sorry." The man tried to get a glimpse of the young woman's face; she was bent over wincing at the pain.

"It's ok, I'm ok, I'm sorry." Standing up straight she dusted herself off and forced a smile at the man who stood in front of her, concern spread across his face.

"No, no, no I'm the one who should be saying sorry. I'm a doctor, are you sure your alright?" His voice was calming down, before it was rather panicked.

"You're the doctor, you tell me." Adding a little giggle she smiled at him and offered her hand. "Page Santos, I'm renting 221A."

"John Watson, I think you know where I live." He laughed taking her hand and smiling. Then all of a sudden she stopped dead and stared hard at the man. She'd seen him before…but where? Shaking her head and giggling to herself she ignored her thoughts and started to make a conversation.

"So John, will I live?" She asked jokingly as they made their way down to ground floor. He chuckled and told her she'd be right as rain.


	4. Out of the corner of eyes

**Chapter 4**

**Out of the corner of eyes**

Page and John had ended up talking all the way out of Baker Street and then all the way back to Baker Street. They'd gotten to know a little about each other and now it was time for Page to get to know the other man ho lived at 221B. John opened the door and stepped inside, allowing Page to come through. She spotted him in the kitchen; he was adding some sort of blue liquid to the sugar bowl. Page tried not to giggle as she watched the man with the messy dark curls on his head bend over the sideboard adding the liquid timidly through what looked like a straw!

"Hello, you must be Sherlock." Her voice bounced as she approached the man who looked up at her and sighed, he turned back to his "experiment" and carried on. "You must be Sherlock." She repeated herself again and waited. A smile spreading across her face, she could tell she'd annoyed him. He straightened himself up and studied her face.

"Here on business, a writer I think…judging by the pen outlines in your jacket pocket? Yes you must be on business, because you're renting. I see John told you all about me- otherwise you wouldn't be so calm standing there watching me as if I'm doing nothing unusual. I could go on and on, but I won't keep you, goodbye." He winked and then picked up a glass jar full of the blue liquid and poured it into the sugar bowl.

"SHERLOCK NO, WE ONLY JUST BOUGHT THAT SUGAR!" John bellowed rushing forward snatching the sugar bowl away from him. Slamming open the bin he threw the contents in and slammed the lid shut again. Page hid her smiles and glanced at John. "Would you like some tea or coffee?" He asked reaching up into the cupboards and opening them up.

"I would, but I take sugar." Page whispered in Sherlock's direction.

"Oh." John shut the cupboards again and shot an angry look in Sherlock's direction. He hadn't moved from the counter. He stood there as though he was still messing with his experiments. "Go and make yourself at home Page, I'll bring something in." John said kindly to her, she nodded and walked into the living room.

Page was left alone with Sherlock; John had nipped to the shop to get some sugar. She sat on the sofa admiring the room, books were stacked everywhere and there were old paintings on the walls. In the corner of the room there was a violin sitting against the wall. Her eyes darted around as she took in the strangeness of their home. A skull was propped up on the mantle. Was it real? She wasn't sure, and she wasn't going to ask. Out of the corner of her eye, she was sure Sherlock was watching her. Though it looked as if he was watching her out of the corner of his eye too. He was on the opposite sofa.

"So what do you do for a living?" Page asked him, she found it the perfect opportunity to study him. Inside her she felt like she wanted to study him, she wanted to look at him. His face was hard to read, she got the impression he didn't like her. Her brown eyes watched him carefully and then as if someone had clicked their fingers, their eyes locked- for only an instant. She darted hers back down and she stared at the carpet. Something powerful had hit her then, she'd never felt like that before, what had she felt? She wasn't sure, not yet anyway. Whatever it was, she was sure he hadn't felt it. He was still watching her; Page lifted her head and looked back at him.

"I don't do anything." Sherlock told her, he looked away and shut his eyes.

"You must do something."

"I'm a consulting detective, and John tags along." Sherlock turned himself so he could watch her. Page took a deep breath.

"A consulting detective?" She asked.

"When the police need me I step in, they always need me."


	5. Good Kisser?

**Chapter 5**

**Good Kisser?**

"Put the gun down Sherlock." John snapped when Sherlock picked up his gun and pointed it at the wall. Sherlock didn't so much as listen in the slightest and as soon as John had his back turned he fired the gun causing John to yell something rude and cover his ears as he made his way to the kitchen. Sherlock was fed up with John now, he'd been in a right mood all morning and he'd barley spoken to him last night.

"Can't help it- bored." Sherlock informed matter-of-factly. John sighed and Sherlock hid his smirk of satisfaction- he liked irritating his flatmate- it was quite amusing.

"I'm not happy with you Sherlock." John stood in the kitchen with his back turned against Sherlock who was lying on the sofa.

"Yes I can tell."

"Good deduction."

"She's in the way, an utter busy body- the sooner she finishes her writing the better." He snapped glancing up at the ceiling referring to Page.

"You didn't have to be so rude- its good job I warned her about you, she might not have taken it so nicely." Rolling his eyes John picked his coat up from off the back of the kitchen chair (which Sherlock had once set alight for a few seconds before John had caught him) and strode across the flat towards the door before turning his head and informing Sherlock of his whereabouts. "I'm going to Sarah's, I'll see you later." Swinging open the door and stepping out the flat he threw a warning. "And don't destroy the flat while I'm out!" Sherlock mimicked his words in perfect timing- he was used to them.

Page sat- laptop on her lap as she uploaded her recent photos from the previous day on Trafalgar square. She'd start with them and write about the square for the magazine. Saving the new folder of photos she decided to take a good look at them and choose the best to put in the magazine. There was a nice one of Nelson's ship, and there was a good one of the gallery- shame about the two men who were walking down the steps in the way. Quickly she skipped onto the next photo and then…she frantically skipped back one and took a good look at the two men who were in the picture. A tall man and a short man…no guessing who they were! It was them…them who'd she'd sat with for a little while last night and drunk tea with. Inside she felt her heartbeat increase when her dark eyes focused on the taller of the two. Something about Sherlock Holmes drew her in- she didn't know what though. Perhaps it was his beautiful eyes or simply those odd mannerisms of his. Was it the way he spoke to her, that bitterness and coldness, something about him intrigued her.

Later that evening John stumbled in and as per usual he neatly placed his coat on the back of the chair. Sherlock had his hands clasped together; he was leant forward on the sofa, his brain ticking away at some strange thought. Slowly he tilted his head upwards to study John. John turned away in annoyance with a sigh.

"Is she a good kisser?" Sherlock teased with an edgy smile, he knew this would hit John hard. His expression full of shock and his cheeks the shade of a tomato, John flashed his head forwards to face Sherlock who was grinning like a Cheshire cat.

"How can you tell?" He didn't even bother denying it; he knew Sherlock would have found numerous small details that he had in-fact had a little "heart to heart" to with Sarah.

"Well, your lips are tinted, ever so slightly- a reddish tint it looks like from here."

"Well that's all we did, so don't try to deduce anything else." John shook his head sat beside his flatmate and took hold of the remote.

"Don't worry, I know."

"How?"

"Well for a starter." Sherlock paused at the sudden expression on John's face, he would have burst out laughing but he didn't think it wise…John wasn't too pleased with him anyway.

"Second thoughts, I don't want to know."

Sherlock had to turn his head to chuckle to himself. What would he do without his best friend?


	6. Denim Jackets

**Chapter 6**

**Denim Jackets**

"I need a case John, where the hell is Lestrade; he must have something for me?" Sherlock paced the flat, he was irritated and stressed, and as he said- his brain was starting to rot. "Pass me the violin." Sherlock outstretched his arm and waited for John to hand him the instrument. "Quickly!" He said losing his temper. John got off the sofa with a sigh and picked up the violin, handing it to Sherlock was the last thing he wanted to do. Very slowly, Sherlock placed it under his chin and then as soon as John settled back down again on the sofa he violently began to play it. The ear piercing screech caused John to screw his face up and grit his teeth.

"Right, I've got to get to hospital now." He shouted over the unwanted noise of the violin.

Page Santos sat writing a few drafts in an old notebook for the magazine. Her pen hadn't stopped writing all morning and now-she thought- it was time for a break. Making the most of her time in London she decided she'd spend her afternoon at Trafalgar square- it was one of her favourite places and she always felt so happy there. Putting her things away, Page went to grab her denim jacket to find that…it wasn't there. Screwing her eyebrows up she sighed- she'd obviously left it in John Watson's flat. Instead she took hold of her bag and locked the door.

The strings screeched and screamed as Sherlock viciously pulled the bow back and forth across the instrument. *Knock*knock* The sound of the violin came to a halt and Sherlock threw it onto the sofa. "Come in." He called putting his hands in his pocket and pacing the room. The door creaked open and the young woman from upstairs opened her mouth to speak but nothing but stutters escaped from her quivering lips. His eyes widened for a moment and then he decided to speak. "Your jacket is in the kitchen." He snapped glancing over towards the kitchen. Page nodded and quickly her small feet pattered into the kitchen where she retrieved her jacket from over one of the chairs.

"Thank you." She whispered as she brushed past him like a cold breeze. He eyed her from behind and pulled a face- it was obvious he thought- she was defiantly into him. First Molly Hooper, now the freakish girl from upstairs, what next! He watched as she hovered in the doorway and turned to face him. "Goodbye Sherlock."


	7. 3 Weeks Later

**Chapter 7**

**3 Weeks Later**

Thankfully, for John's sake, Scotland Yard had needed help- Lestrade had called up one morning whilst John was working, he'd informed Sherlock of a murder, the first body had been found exactly a mile from London Bridge (something that Sherlock had deduced). Since then there had been four more bodies found- and each of them had been murdered in exactly the same way and they were also found exactly a mile from great tourist attractions. A serial killer…was on the loose. A single shot through the head, Sherlock found it quite a bore. All he really had to do was help find the murderer, there was no puzzle to keep him occupied.

By now Page Santos had been around all the popular tourist sites in London. Her camera album was crammed full of beautiful photos and each photo represented London's pure finery. There were buildings like Westminster Abby, London Bridge, Big Ben, The Houses of Parliament, The Tower of London and hundreds more. She'd started typing up for the magazine now and her boss, Mr Mason had been extremely pleased with her work so far.

"I've just been talking to Page, I've invited her over for dinner." John informed Sherlock, he looked up from his laptop and clicked the X on the webpage (the science of deduction) and scowled at his friend. John sighed. "Don't be like that Sherlock, she's a nice girl and she's on her own tonight, I thought she could do with some company- besides as Sarah's coming also it'll be nice for them to have a girly chat. I wonder when the last time Page had a girly chat since she's been here in London eh?" John tried his bets to encourage Sherlock to look on the brightside and look forward to the night.

"You knew I wouldn't like this." Was all he said when John sat himself down and switched on the TV.

"Yes well, get over it because it's happening, besides isn't it about time you got to know Page? You know she really likes you, I mean really, really likes you?" John said turning to face Sherlock, to Sherlock's surprise he found that John was really serious about it. "Don't hurt her like you did Molly ok, or even better, give her a chance."

Sherlock, John, Sarah and Page sat around the table in 221B's kitchen which a few hours ago was Sherlock's "laboratory" (as you can imagine, John wasn't to happy) eating a Chinese takeaway. Sherlock, with his face like thunder was silent all night, he was fed up with Page's constant eyes flickering his way every few seconds. Hiding her feelings was harder then what she thought. The girls had gotten on well and they were both sipping red wine at this point.

"So are you Spanish then?" Sarah asked propping her glass back down on the table. "I mean, Santos is a Spanish name, isn't it?." Page looked up from her food and as she opened her mouth- Sherlock stole the moment.

"Your not Spanish." He said coolly to Page, she felt her heart race at his sudden stare. "For a starters your to pale to be from Spain, besides that- when I first met you, you had your camera around your neck- there was a name engraved on it, Eric Hathaway, it could only be your father's because if it were your brother's his last name would be Santos, so yes it was your father's he gave it to you and I noticed on the identity tag your name was written on it- Page Santos, your father gave you the camera didn't he? Your mother remarried and you changed your last name as well- born Page Hathaway, and now Page Santos." Sherlock winked and returned to his food, Page stopped eating and stared at him, gob smacked. How could he know so much? Sarah smiled in appreciation and a small "wow" escaped from her mouth. John on the other hand was used to his usual deductions and carried on eating like it was normal.


	8. The Evening According to Sherlock

**Chapter 8**

**The Evening According to Sherlock**

The evening had gone slowly (for Sherlock anyway) and he'd just about enough of all this constant girly chitter chatter, he'd been quiet all night. Now and then he'd pluck the strings on his violin and he'd get glances from John- warning him not to even try playing the violin. They were all sat on the sofa discussing pointless and boring topics and occasionally Sherlock would hear his name crop up- though he tended not to really care. Outside it was raining, and inside the flat it was chilly, not nicest of nights.

"Can I see them, your pictures?" Sarah asked willingly to Page who was telling them of the magazine she was writing for. Page smiled warmly and agreed to go fetch her camera and show them the pictures she'd taken for the magazine.

Five minutes later she came back, camera in hand- John plugged it into his laptop and they hovered around the laptop waiting for the photos to upload. Once they'd loaded John clicked onto the file and they admired Page's great photography. All the great tourist attractions were taken perfectly.

"Obviously I need to crop them, there's cars and people scattered around on them. Once there cropped they'll look alright." She shrugged modestly with a grin which Sherlock captured in the corner of his eye. Quickly he darted his eyes away from her, however the image of her grin plastered his mind. It was delicate and innocent, something so cute and perfect about it.

"Sherlock you should see these, quick." John hid the concern in voice for the girl's sake, but Sherlock new something was up. Sherlock immediately turned his attention to the photos, his eyes scanning everything on the photos, shoving John out the way, Sherlock took control of the laptop and skipped through the photos…it hit him straight in the face. First of all, the thing that jumped out to him was defiantly the fact that somewhere on the photos, in the distance there was a car- a black sleek long car with blacked out windows. It was there on every single one of the photos. Secondly, the photos were of the great tourist attractions…those great tourist attractions in which the bodies were found exactly a mile away from!


	9. Page's Announcement

**Chapter 9**

**Page's Announcement**

John had left to escort Sarah home, it was around eleven o'clock and Page was thinking of retiring to her flat also. Though being left alone with Sherlock was something she wanted, she wanted to talk to him, especially since it would be her last chance… Sherlock was sitting on the sofa, he eyed her and she caught his look. Right this was it, this was her chance, her chance to tell him she loved him. It would be a waste of time she new, because he did not love her, she'd gathered that much. But as she was leaving tonight. Taking a deep breath and walking a little closer towards him she stuttered her words.

"Sherlock there's something I need to tell you." Her voice was nervous and shaken, as if something was caught in her throat. She watched patiently and nervously as Sherlock's eyes focused on her, as if he knew everything.

"I don't care Page." He snapped shaking his head at her, utter disgust on his face. The colour in Page's cheeks drained and her eyes rapidly swelled, she could feel the tears trying to escape.

"You haven't heard what I want to say to you." She struggled the words, she could feel herself choking. Sherlock grinned cruelly at her.

"I don't need to, save your breaths woman and go home."

"I love you. I love you, you Sherlock, can't you see that?" Her voice was weak and she decided not to care about the tears and she let them run. Sherlock looked up at her and stopped smiling, he watched one of her tears run down her cheeks, he'd made her cry.

"I know you like me Page, but I don't like you and I never will, I'm sorry but I think you'd better go home." He kept his voice low and his head down, this was so frustrating, he'd never been in a situation like this, this was nothing compared to Molly Hooper! Page's face crumbled and it felt as if she'd been stabbed, stabbed through the heart a thousand times and left to die. It was cold in the flat and the atmosphere didn't help.

"You wouldn't know love if it hit you in face, you don't know how to love, you don't know how to care, your so empty aren't you Sherlock. I can see through you, your empty and dead."

"Just go Page and stop embarrassing yourself."

"DON'T WORRY I'M GOING, THERES A CAR WAITING FOR ME OUTSIDE AND MY BAGS ARE PACKED, I'M LEAVING, MY BUSINESS HERE IS DONE. Goodbye Sherlock Holmes, I hope you lead a miserable life." With a quick heel turn she was out of the flat and gone.

Sherlock peered through the window and watched as Page wiped her tears and entered the car…the car…A black car with blacked out windows…that car!


	10. Working it All Out

**Chapter 10**

**Working it all out**

"I don't even know the girl; for God's sake can you blame me?" Sherlock snapped when John started on the questions on why and when, Page had left Baker Street. "She was leaving anyway, does it really matter?" He flew his hands around his face as if it would brush away the unwanted conversation. "The point is." He began on a serious note. "Is that when she left, she got into that same car..." Sherlock's voice was a whisper and he let his voice trail off as his thoughts took over. John glared at him, speechless. Sherlock felt the sudden stare and snapped his head up. "Before you say it, no she's not the murderer. And she'll defiantly be back." Sherlock turned his head back down to the floor and John tried to make sense of everything.

"So, you're saying she's innocent?"

"One hundred percent innocent, she knows nothing, something's going on though...but what!" His voice became a little aggressive and he scratched his head and sighed, leaning back into the sofa.

"Have you considered it could be him...Moriarty, trying to trick you?" John shrugged at his own suggestion; however, Sherlock had a different view on it. Leaping off the sofa he violently paced the room, back and fourth, back and fourth. His brain was working double time at this point. Trying to piece everything together was difficult for once, he needed more information, he needed to speak to Page.

Murders, each found exactly a mile from a great tourist attraction in London. Page Santos, in London on business, renting a flat in which her boss paid for, all her photos of those tourist attractions in which the bodies were a found a mile from. And everyone of those photos, there is a car, a car which is black and long, a top class car with blacked out windows. Next, Page Santos finishes her time in London and leaves in a car, a very high-class car with blacked out windows- the exact same car. Though she is innocent, she has to be. Page Santos was the diversion...so that somebody else can get to Sherlock...


	11. Page's Return to Baker Street

**Chapter 11**

**Page's Return to Baker Street**

**2 WEEKS LATER**

*KNOCK*KNOCK*

Mrs Hudson peered through 221b's a jar door as she looked for any sign of movement inside. She could hear footsteps ever so slightly tiptoe their way closer and then...Sherlock burst out of the kitchen, a huge carving knife in hand pointed directly at Mrs Hudson. Yelping she jumped up and clutched her heart.

"Goodness me Sherlock dear, you scarred me to death almost!" She scolded pointing her finger at him as if he was a disobedient pupil. Sherlock sighed and lowered the knife to his side. "Whatever are you doing?" She protested eyeing the knife and shaking her head in confusment.

"Nothing Mrs Hudson, only cooking." Sherlock lied and winked. "What do you want?"

"You remember the young girl who was renting upstairs." Mrs Hudson said with a nod. "Well she's moved back in, permanently, just thought I'd let you know." Mrs Hudson smiled at him before saying goodbye and leaving the flat. Sherlock stayed perfectly still for a moments before returning into the kitchen and carrying on with chopping the eyeballs.

"I saw Page out on the landing." That was the first thing that John Watson said as he entered 221B that evening. "You said she'd be back." He said looking back at the door referring to the landing.

"Yes well, it'll be worth asking her a few questions soon." Sherlock replied coldly as he opened a jar and stuffed the chopped eyeballs back in before John could see what he'd been up to whilst he was out. John sat down with his laptop and Sherlock came back into the living room.

"Do you think she'll want to talk to you?"

"Oh yes, she likes me to much, she'll talk to me."


	12. An Outing

**Chapter 12**

"Do I really have to go?" Sherlock moaned as he picked up the violin bow and rolled his eyes at John's suggestion. John folded his arms, not the violin again! "Cinemas are dull, boring, why can't I just stay here?" Sherlock outdrew the bow towards him as a signal of annoyance. Did he really think that's he'd want to go to a cinema with "them?"

"Because if I let you do that you'll have the whole flat down as soon as I walk out the door." John snapped turning his back on Sherlock, he bent down and straightened up the mess on the coffee table (Sherlock's strange formulas and experiments) he shut his eyes and sighed when he glanced down at something growing in a small Petri dish. "Come on Sherlock, all you have to do is sit down and watch a screen, please; I've already told the girls that your going- you don't want to let them down do you?" John tilted his head with a fake a smile that even Sherlock had to grin at. "Make yourself presentable, it'll be time to go soon." John called over his shoulder as he walked off to his room to get ready.

"I'm not sitting with Page." Sherlock yelled grabbing the violin from off the floor and placing it under his chin. Faintly he could hear John calling back from behind the closed door.

"Well you're not sitting next to me, and you're not sitting next to Sarah."

Sarah and Page were standing beside the cinema screen door chatting to one another as they waited for Sherlock and John to come back with the snacks. John was fuming; Sherlock could be so...so awkward and stubborn when he wanted! He had been complaining all night about he wasn't going to be sitting beside Page throughout the film. "Will you stop this, you're so childish!" John snapped quietly as he waited for the popcorn, Sherlock grinned to the floor and slouched off.

As they entered the darkened screening room, Sherlock made sure he was behind John, even if this meant pushing past Sarah. He was going to get his way! As soon as John sat himself down, Sherlock bound his way across the row and sat right beside him. John gave him the evils and hissed at him, telling him to move up one so that Sarah could sit beside him. "I'm comfy now." Was all he said back, his eyes glued to the blank cinema screen. John sighed and gave in, he got up and sat on the opposite seat. Therefore, it went, Sherlock, John, Sarah and then Page.


	13. First Touch

**Chapter 13**

**First Touch**

The evening at the cinema had gone reasonably well, apart from when they went for dinner, Sherlock kept deducing things about the waiters and waitresses. According to him, their waitress was having an affair with one of the chefs. However, this time he had to sit beside Page. John had had doubts at that point, perhaps it would not be such a good idea- knowing Sherlock he would end up hurting her feelings by accident (or in this case- on purpose.) Page seemed to have enjoyed her evening; these people were her friends now. Now that she'd moved down to London, she found that despite the awkwardness between her and Sherlock, the whole thing had been for the best.

Page Santos stood outside the flats on a cold and breezy morning on Baker Street. She stood waiting for a taxi to make an appearance. There was a bright green bow tied in her hair and a small bag over her shoulder. A few leaves scattered around her feet; the autumn was here and the air caused a slight chill. Behind her, a door was opened and then shut a couple of seconds later. A man strode over towards her, his hands in his pockets of his long black coat. A deep blue scarf tied around his neck and the curls on his head bounced with the breeze. He stood beside her and breathed out; Page watched his breath flow out of his mouth with the wind. Tall, he was so tall and she was only small. Looking up at the man, she forced a worried smile at him. "Good morning Sherlock, how are you today?" She whispered, her lips quivering- she'd been such a fool- such a damn idiot. Why oh why had she made herself look a fool? Inside her head she sighed at herself, admitting her feelings so soon to the man whom she loved was not the best thing to do. She had been so silly; she'd acted like a stupid teenager! For God's sake, she was only twenty-five, she was young, he was at least ten years older then her. Did that really matter? A small sigh escaped from her mouth and she told her self to stop tormenting herself.

"I'm well thank you, actually Page, I was hoping you'd come back inside..." His voice trailed off and he shrugged...was he pretending...for once he himself didn't know. "I'd like to speak to you, it's rather important if you don't mind?" He asked, his voice was totally put on, and she knew it and he knew that she knew it.

"Why?" Her voice was cold and bitter, but perhaps the weather had put her in that mood.

"I need to question you, look it's about those killings, I really need to speak you...now."

Page and Sherlock sat themselves down in 221B- inside it was warm and cosy, unlike the bitterness of the morning outdoors. Page took a deep breath, why would she know anything about these killings? "Who's your boss Page?" That was the first question that Sherlock asked, Page looked at him funny, what use would that make?

"Mr Mason." She replied truthfully crossing her legs. Sherlock nodded and hit her with another question.

"Who drives that big black car?" Sherlock asked, this time he scared her. There was fire in his eyes, he seemed to be getting excited and she wasn't sure what to make of anything. Her eyes skimmed his face and she pursed her lips together before answering.

"I don't know."

"You must!"

"Well I don't, an employee of Mr Mason, but I don't know who." Her voice was raised and Sherlock could feel her panic. He watched as he small fingers gripped onto the edge of a pillow. His light blue eyes looked down at her dainty hand and slowly his reached down and placed his hand on top of hers. Taking it gently, he picked it up, placed it on her lap, and stared into eyes. Page watched him, her heart beating furiously inside her chest and her mind buzzing with questions and delusions. Her mouth was slightly open and she couldn't seem to close it.

"There's nothing to get worried about, I promise." Sherlock whispered at her, she nodded a little and breathed out. "It seems you know nothing, it's ok Page, and you can leave now. Thank you."


	14. I'd Make You Unhappy

**Chapter 14**

**I'd Make You Unhappy**

The taxi came to a halt at approximately half twelve on a Saturday afternoon. The sun was high in the sky and Trafalgar square was packed with citizens and the usual tourists. Younger people were sat upon the huge lions or simply just sitting on the column listening to their music or chatting to one another. Striding out of the taxi, he stood on the square his eyes immediately darting around. It didn't take him long to spot her, she was peering over one of the fountains, looking deep into the cool sky blue water. Most Saturday's she would come here, it was her favourite London attraction and she got everything she could out of it: happiness. Placing his hands in his pockets, he made his way towards her. Standing behind her he waited, wondering how long it'd take her to realise someone was there. Suddenly, unexpected she peered a little to close into the fountain and her first reaction was push herself backwards- though in doing this her feet slipped on the wet stone beneath her feet where the fountain had spat out water and flew forwards again. Two arms flung around her waist and pulled her back just in time. Page spun around in shock- her eyes flew upon her "saviour", her mouth dropped open, and she exhaled and managed to calm herself a little. Letting her go, Sherlock grinned and rolled his eyes at her. "Careful, you don't want to fall in there; I imagine it's pretty cold." His words were sarcastic but it did not come across like that.

"Thank you." She breathed out flashing a quick look over her shoulder at the fountain, which had almost swallowed her whole. "What are you doing here?" She asked trying to forget the heat that her cheeks seemed to be producing- Sherlock couldn't help but smile at her cherry coloured cheeks so he.

"I thought you could use some company." He shrugged and perched himself on the edge of the fountain and indicated for her to sit as well. Taking a short sigh she plucked up the courage to sit beside him, she didn't at him, she just focused on the nearest lion on Nelson's Column.

"How did you know I was here?" She asked finally turning to look at him.

"It's your favourite place, your here most Saturdays aren't you?" He asked her, though he already knew he was right. She chuckled and looked into his eyes, he stared back for a few seconds before looking ahead and breaking it. She sighed a little and they sat in silence for a moment.

"I really like you Page." He murmured, her head snapped up. "But you need to know, I'm not the one for you, I...I don't love you. I'm sorry Page, you have to know I'm married to my work. I'd make you unhappy. You deserve better." His words seemed rushed, as if they'd been rehearsed but spoken out badly. Page looked down at the floor, pursed her lips together, and stared out at the sun. Not really knowing what to think or say she muttered something that seemed to fit the "conversation."

"I didn't say that I...look I understand."

"Come on let's get a taxi and go home."


	15. Is it what he thinks it is? Is it Love?

**Chapter 15**

**Is it what he thinks it is?**

**Is it Love?**

Later that evening Sherlock and Page departed as they got out of the taxi on Baker Street, Page left in a hurry to a nearby corner shop, complaining she'd run out of coffee, so Sherlock watched her turn the corner before he sighed and made his way to 221B. Guilt- it was guilt that was running through his mind, it was guilt that was starting to torment him, he'd let her go. He'd let her go without warning her. He was doing nothing to protect her. He knew that whoever she was working for...would sometime show up...for good. And when they did...it wouldn't be for the better. Oh no, it certainly wouldn't. Moreover, Sherlock Holmes knew that- for all he knew, these people could harm her. Hang on a minute- he thought to himself as he sat down on the sofa and glanced at the clock. Why should he really care so much? Why for that matter _did_ he care so much? For goodness sake, he told himself, stop teasing yourself, it's not going to change anything!

She hadn't returned from the shop...it'd been an hour...she'd said she'd only gone for coffee- it wouldn't in a million years take that long. Good grief it was only coffee! What was keeping her? Perhaps he'd just not noticed that she'd come back, of course that would be right, Sherlock told himself, trying to stay optimistic about the whole thing. He hadn't moved from the sofa, he'd sat waiting to hear the door open, to hear her small feet tip-toe up the stairs to her flat. He'd sat waiting for her to return...just to make sure she'd come back alright...just to make sure she was safe...just to make sure nobody had...taken her. Right, that's enough! He snapped to himself leaping from the sofa; he grabbed his coat and scarf and stormed out of 221B. Coffee or no coffee, he was going to bring her- Right. Back. Here!

Not being used to the strange surroundings of a small corner shop, Sherlock did his best to keep a low profile as he wandered around the tiny aisles searching for Page. He knew she wouldn't be here, he knew that from the moment he realised she hadn't come home. Though he still looked, was there really a shred of hope in the pit of his stomach? The great Sherlock Holmes searching a corner shop for a young woman who would have left it about an hour ago! God, what was happening to him? He'd never normally do this. Shaking his head he sighed and left the shop, picking up his speed in a hurry to return to 221B in case she'd turned up.

As soon as he'd shut the door behind him he knew she wasn't home. So he took hold of mobile and hastily dialled her number. Patience, patience, the word beat like a drum inside his head as he held onto the phone waiting for someone on the other end pick up. It was on it's fifth ring, she'd wasn't going to answer, he'd guessed that from the first ring. Sherlock hung up and stared at the mobile as if it'd done something wrong. Why had she not turned up? Something had happened, he could sense it, everything about this wasn't right. She'd gone, been taken...presumably by her boss. That was it, it had to be. Could this be murder? All those places...those great tourist attractions! Sherlock's brain was working double time as he thought about everything and everything. He thought of all the possibles and then...SNAP! One place that Page had taken photos of and where no one had been murdered- that one place...Page's favourite place...Trafalgar Square...


	16. I'm Sorry

**Chapter 16**

**I'm Sorry**

He bolted open the door and flew down the stairs almost knocking dear Mrs Hudson off her feet as he went. Flinging open the door, he stood outside on Baker Street, his eyes flying around looking for a taxi. "Sherlock?" Her voice was like a punch in the face, Page Santos stood right in front of him. She was just about to enter the flats. A grin was perched on her face; Sherlock studied her, trying to make out where she'd been for so long. She held no corner shop bag. Something about her wasn't quite right, the way she held herself upright, the way her smile forced itself upon her face. Her eyes, usually so bright and full of life, now they were tired looking and dead. He could tell she'd done her best to brighten them up- though she'd missed a slight drop of runny mascara- she'd been crying.

"Page!" His voice was rushed as he stared down at her...wondering about where she'd been. She certainly hadn't been for coffee.

Like a good man, Sherlock invited her inside, he was going to confront her- it'd be easier because John was out with Sarah. He watched as she hung around the doorway, her arms folded, though Sherlock knew why they were folded, she didn't want him to notice the fact that they were shaking- too bad. He already had! Her head was hung low and she seemed to stare at the ground a little too much, she was quiet, very quite for her. She was usually such a chatty little thing. "I've been worried sick actually, where have you been? You said you were going to the shop, for coffee." He nodded his head at his words and waited for her reply. She grunted and shrugged, hmmm, he thought, she was doing her best not to let on to anything. "Ok come on Page, where have you been? I was on my way to find you, Trafalgar Square actually, considering that's the only place they haven't murdered yet- the only place remaining out of your photos for the magazine. I know page, whether you know the whole story or not, I know that your boss and his "fellow" staff aren't who they say they are." This time he looked her straight in the eye, waiting patiently for her response, he watched her eyes as they blushed red and as a small tear escaped from them. Perhaps she didn't know the five Ws, but she knew what he was talking about. "Your being played Page, your being used, used to get to me. You a simple young woman, being created as a diversion all for me. Your boss Mr Mason, I bet that's both his real name, is it?" He tilted his head and shrugged his shoulders waiting for her to eventually say something to help him out. Tears streamed down her face and she unfolded her shaking arms and fumbled around in her coat pocket. Sherlock screwed his face up...what was she doing...was it what he thought it was? No...she wouldn't! Would she? Her hands brought out from her coat a shiny black...handgun. Pointing it upwards towards him, Page cried harder and the tears splashed down her face.

"I'm so sorry Sherlock, I have to do this, or he'll kill me, I have to do this...I have to kill you!" Her voice was a growl and she forced the words out of her mouth, her hands shaking as she held the gun ready to fire. Sherlock waited, standing very, very still. She wouldn't shoot, he knew she wouldn't shoot.

"No you don't, you don't have to do anything but put the gun down and calm yourself, everything will be alright, Page put the gun down." His voice was a mere soft whisper as he waited for her to gain confidence. Her head shook from side to side.

"No, I have exactly half an hour to kill you. I'm sorry Sherlock but you have to die now." Her voice croaked and creaked and she spluttered through coughs from the un-controllable crying. Sherlock out drew his hands and lowered them, showing her what to do with the gun.

"Page put the gun down, put it down Page." Softly he ordered her. Her eyes shut tight and she cried harder as her fingers caressed the trigger.

"I'm sorry." She mouthed at him.

"SHERLOCK!" John's voice bellowed as he flew into the room.


	17. Just Stop!

**Chapter 17**

**Just Stop!**

John Watson flew into the room, flinging his hands towards the gun, which Page had pointed at the ready, and knocking it clean from her poor grasp. Page reacted in a shot as she watched the gun hit the floor, flying forwards to pick it back up, she was unaware of what was coming next. John threw his arms around her waist and did his best to tackle her to the ground without hurting her. She lay sprawled out on the floor, crying. John held her tightly in case she attempted to snatch the gun. Sherlock hadn't moved, he hadn't taken his eyes off her. The fact that she was about to kill him didn't bother him in the slightest, he reacted as if it'd never happened. John stepped up after retrieving the gun from the floor; he panted and stared at Sherlock, worriedly. Page lay huddled on the floor; she'd tucked her legs up towards her chest. The tears fell from her face repeatedly and Sherlock couldn't stand to see her like this. "Go and get her a glass of water John, oh...and thank you." He nodded, his words hurried, as soon as John staggered into the kitchen, Sherlock flew down to the floor and sat beside her. Her dark hair, now a tangled mess covering her face. Gently he removed a wisp of her hair from out of her face, took hold of her wrist, and pulled her up. He could see her struggling to talk through the amount of crying she was doing. Her eyes a blotchy mess and her hands shaking so fast; Sherlock couldn't help but feel sorry for the her as she sat there- feeling alone.

"I, I...I'm, really...s...sorry." As soon as she ended her sentence, she took a deep breath and buried her head in her hands. Sherlock turned away from her as John came back with the water, taking it from him he handed it to Page. The water sloshed around in the glass as her shaking hands lifted it towards her lips. John flashed a worried look at Sherlock and sat down beside Page on the floor.

"It's fine Page, I understand." Sherlock whispered to her, she shook her head violently and even more tears poured from out of her eyes.

"No it isn't...HELP SHERLOCK HE'S GOING TO KILL ME...PLEASE DON'T LET HIM KILL ME!" Page flew into a violent rage, throwing her arms around her head before grasping Sherlock's collar and pulling him back and forth. John snatched the gun and hid it under his coat...just in case.

"Page, stop, just stop." Sherlock tried to hush her; eventually she let him go and wiped her eyes.

"I'll tell you everything..." She whispered.

"I wish you would." Sherlock replied...

I'm so sorry this chapter isn't very long at all- I just needed to write something to explain what will happen in the next chapter. If you love the Sherlock Holmes film with Robert Downey Jr, you'll notice I added two lines from the film- right at the end!

Enjoy x


	18. Flashback: Moriarty

**Chapter 18**

**Flashback: Moriarty**

Page Santos waved Sherlock goodbye and turned- she trotted down to the end of Baker Street. She could feel his gaze, lingering behind her as she went, as soon as she turned the corner she felt free from his slightly un-nerving gaze after her. Did he care? She thought to herself. Why else would he watch her leave the street? No, this is stupid; she thought to herself, he's just admitted he wasn't interested. Uh, that word "interested" sounded so vile. Right, she thought setting her mind to the task she was about to perform, retrieving coffee from the nearest convenience store. Turning the next corner, she felt a hand grab hers and she was instantly pulled into a dark alleyway. A hand was thrown over her mouth to prevent her from screaming. Page's eyes darted around just as fast as her hear beat as she looked around herself and trying to look at the person who'd just snatched her off the street so silently.

"Come on missy, I think it's time you finally do some work around here." His voice was gruff and heavy. Page shut her eyes tight and loosened up, there was really nothing she could do but allow him to take her away.

She was dragged and thrown into the back of a large blacked out-windowed limousine looking car- the door was slammed behind her and her heart raced as she tossed herself towards the front of the car-demanding to take a look at the driver. She knew this car, to well. It was the same car that had taken her to her boss's office so many times. And then she smelt it, a strong smell- like bleach tickled her nose and then the smoke filled the back of the car and her mind went blank and her eyes shut. Her senses faded and then...nothing.

"Hi Page!" A familiar Irish voice pounded at her as her eyes flickered open. She was sat, tide to a chair facing a desk, which Mr Mason sat at. The room was barley lit and the windows blacked out. It was cold and Page could barely see. She'd only just awoken since she was drugged and her mind was still a little hazy from the "experience." "Have you enjoyed spending time with Sherlock?" He giggled and flashed a warm smile at her, though Page saw straight through it. She could see the madness in his face and in his eyes. He was almost serpent like; he'd never looked like this before.

"Mr Mason?" She breathed out finally, in confusion.

"Wrooong!" He let the word drag on in a high-pitched voice, Page blinked a few times, trying to recover from the drug. There was a sudden flash on confusion on her face and Mr Mason only smiled. "I think you'll find that I'm actually Jim Moriarty...hi!" He added with a vemoness grin, which Page found repulsive. "Now then, lets get down to business, you see. I want Sherlock Holmes." He grinned at the expression on Page's face. "Not just Sherlock Holmes, I want Sherlock Holmes...dead." He chuckled and rose from his seat and tossed a gun at Page from out of his blazer pocket. Page stared at it and gulped a little before looking back up at Moriarty who was now circling around her with his hands in his pockets.

"What's that for?" Page spat.

"That is what will kill Sherlock Holmes. Let me rephrase that, it's what _you _will use to kill Sherlock Holmes." He emphasized on the word "you" and let out a bitter laugh. Page's heart sank and she began to panic as her eyes became glued to the gun.

"There was no magazine, no job...I was just used the whole time!" Page stared at Moriarty for a second. "Oh God..." She whispered to herself staring down at the gun in which she'd just been given to end the life of Sherlock Holmes with.

"Cleaver, cleaver, cleaver...NOT!" Moriarty yelled making her jump and sit up straight. "It took you a while to work that one out. Kill Sherlock Holmes or the next dead body will be yours...you have half an hour from when you're feet touch 221B Baker Street. I'll be watching..."


	19. Four Minutes

**Chapter 19**

**Four Minutes**

Sherlock and John stared at each other when Page finished telling them what really happened. Sherlock was thinking, his mind whirling around at all the little details. Half an hour...half an hour until they come back for her. His eyes flew towards the clock on the wall...four minutes. She had four minutes. They had to get her out of here...fast! "John hurry, we have four minutes!" Sherlock yelled taking hold of Page's hands and pulling her up. John jumped up and quickly stared out the window.

"It's too late Sherlock, there already here." He whispered in shock pulling the blinds back down again. Outside, a large black car waited, it's headlights still on. It was dark outside, and cold. Without anymore warning, they heard it. The sound of footsteps running up the stairs outside on the landing. Page shot a frightened look at Sherlock, though he ignored her and braced himself.  
"You're going to have to trust me, both of you. There are two men making their way up the stars _right now!" _He snapped raising his hands. Both John and Page huddled together and kept silent as they listened to Sherlock. "Page, tell them that were out and that's why you haven't yet shot me, John go into the kitchen...now." He hissed and John rushed into the kitchen. "Trust me on this ok." Sherlock nodded at Page and darted into the kitchen behind John and they each waited for **them **to arrive. Then the door bolted open and Page spun around to face two men in black suits, both carrying guns. Page stared at them and took a deep breath.

"Is he dead?" One of them grunted. Page replied with a strong "NO" and breathed out. Sherlock and John stood very still and very quiet in the kitchen, listening to everything. "Get her." The man shouted and Page stayed silent as they dragged her out of 221B.


	20. The Heart of Mr Holmes

**Chapter 20**

**The Heart of Mr Holmes**

"COME ON JOHN!" Sherlock bellowed darting out of the kitchen grabbing his coat and slinging it over himself as he sprinted out of the flat after Page. John was close behind and the pair of them entered the cold and bitter night. The black car had just turned left out of Baker Street and Sherlock was already halfway down the street by the time John had managed to catch a breath. "JOHN, THEY'VE HEADED STRAIGHT FOR ROADWORKS- THIS GIVES US TIME...LETS NOT WAIST IT ON YOU CATCHING YOUR BREATHS- COME ON, NOW!" Sherlock bellowed still running for dear life. "WE NEED TO GET PAST THESE ROADWORKS AND CATCH A TAXI TO TRAFALGAR SQUARE!" Sherlock had disappeared around the corner and John picked up his pace and ran after him.

They caught a taxi just passed the road works; they were one up on Moriarty already- because Page was behind them, stuck in traffic. Sherlock was silent, his mind on Page. All he saw was her smiling face. Then her sad face- like the time he'd rejected her and she left London. Reject...that was all she was used to. He'd deduced that a long time ago, though he'd always kept it to himself. Though normally he would have come out with it and upset her...something prevented him to hurt her. Though it wasn't like he'd never hurt her before. She'd asked for his love long ago- they'd barely met at the time. He remembered it well. Sherlock Holmes... hadn't a heart. He remembered her words...

_"You wouldn't know love if it hit you in face, you don't know how to love, you don't know how to care, your so empty aren't you Sherlock. I can see through you, you're empty and dead."_

The taxi came to halt and Sherlock burst out and left John to pay the fare and hop out after him. He strode past the fore lions and past the two fountains and made his way behind the Art Gallery, John quickly made his way up behind him.

"Why are we here?" John whispered.

"Because this is the only place out of all the photos that Moriarty hasn't committed a murder, Page is his next murder and it's going to be here...her favourite place in the entire world." Sherlock spoke the words out of triumph, the night was cold and nobody was about...the perfect spot for a quiet murder.

"Yes, but the murders were all exactly a mile from the attractions on the photos." John shrugged, how could Sherlock forget that? Sherlock turned on his heel with a chuckle.

"Correct, however...this is her favourite place...this is where the finale murder is about to commence. Though...I'll stop it." Sherlock hurried his words waiting for Page or Moriarty to turn up. "Don't look so confused...shush." He hissed suddenly and John reached into his pocket for his handgun. Footsteps echoed through the night...John stared at the wall, a shadow of a man making his way towards them got closer and closer.

"SHERLOCK!" A familiar gay high-pitched Irish voice spat out into the night and Moriarty appeared...Page in his grasp, tape around her mouth and rope around her hands. Tears streamed from her eyes and it pained Sherlock...it pained him so bad. "You're just in time for the party!" Moriarty giggled pushing Page to the floor, she fell and hit her head hard on the gravel.

"You took your time Moriarty." The name curled around Sherlock's tongue and he removed his handgun from his pocket and kept it out-stretched and pointed at Moriarty.

"I wouldn't do that..." Moriarty chuckled quietly to himself, that's when a red dot hit Sherlock's, John's and Page's chest. "You see, this time you _will_ die." Moriarty spat and faced Page. "She was too weak for this." He waved his hand, signalling for his men to shoot her. Sherlock bound forwards despite knowing this move could finish him off. "GOT YOU!" Moriarty laughed aloud and screwed up his face at Sherlock and burst out with another giggle. The only light which was lit was the nearby street lights which flickered a bright orange. Sherlock sighed with anger and frustration. Then...the sound of police cars flew through the night. John tried to stop himself from looking to smug. Thank goodness Lestrade had told him what to do if they ever got into a situation like this.

_"I know what that Sherlock's like, if you ever get into trouble, dial my number, let it ring and hang up. I've got your mobile on a tracker...we'll be with you as soon as." Lestrade promised John when Sherlock had left Scotland Yard leaving him behind one time. _

John secretly removed his mobile from behind his back and placed it back in his pocket without Moriarty knowing. Moriarty closed his eyes for a second and the streetlights flickered violently and switched off leaving them in the darkness. The sound of the police cars started to get louder and within the next minute the street lights had come back on and Moriarty was nowhere to be seen. Sherlock was at Page's side in an instant, tearing at the knots around her hands and removing the tape from her lips. She gasped out with relief and threw her arms around his neck. He cradled her close and held onto her tight. John stayed put and turned his eyes away- giving them a little privacy. You didn't have to be Sherlock Holmes to know that they both had feelings for one another. Sherlock felt a small tear of relief fly down his cheek as he hugged her tightly, refusing to let her go.

"I love you Sherlock Holmes." He heard her whisper into his ear. Sherlock slowly withdrew and stared into her dark eyes.

"You're one of a kind Page, one of a kind." He chuckled and then as if by magic he leant closer towards her and then...their lips touched and they held onto to each other and held the kiss. Page's heart beat rapidly and her stomach did summersaults. She truly loved him. Sherlock on the other hand didn't know what to think, he felt something, something that he'd never felt r fully experienced before. He guessed that the feelings he felt for her had to be love.

"SHERLOCK!"

*BANG*


	21. Sherlock Holmes has a Heart

**Chapter 21**

**Sherlock Holmes has a Heart**

Their lips parted, John's voice rang around the sound of police sirens and blood trickled from out of Page's chest. Sherlock stared down at the blood and held her tight. No...no...God no, he thought to himself, she can't die, she just can't, not after everything they'd been through, not now, not ever! Sherlock's eyes flew up at her, back down at the blood, and then back up into her eyes. Page forced a smiled and slowly coughed out a few words. "At least I proved...Sherlock...Holmes has a...a...heart." Her voice died away with one last smile and she was gone. Her limp, lifeless body collapsed in his arms and Sherlock cried. He cried and he cried. She'd gone, she'd died...Moriarty had won. Sherlock picked her up and cried, John leant against the wall and fell to his knees with a sigh and a tear.

"Tell Lestrade, I found his murderer, tell him I lost, and tell him the murderer got away. Tell him there's a dead body waiting." Sherlock looked over at John and he nodded picking up his mobile and dialling Lestarde quickly. Sherlock felt torn apart, torn apart from everything. "Tell him, and then we can go home."

Lestrade, Anderson, Donavan and the rest of the usual gang at Scotland Yard parked up and entered the crime scene where Sherlock and John were waiting. Sherlock shuffled towards them and handed them the body, he watched silently as she was placed into a black body bag. That would be the last he would ever see of her. John stood beside Sherlock and sighed.

"Are you alright?"

"Of course I'm alright." He whispered and hid his face. Sgt Donavan made her way over to John, her walkie-talkie in hand.

"Is the freak crying?" She asked.

"No, of course not- he's just a little shaken. That's all." John hastily said, he knew Sherlock wouldn't want them to know. Sherlock began talking to Lestrade and John waited for him to come back. Once he returned he pulled John along with him and they walked back down and through Trafalgar Square where a taxi was waiting to take them back to Baker Street. Sherlock turned and faced the square, Page on his mind. This was her special place. Sherlock grinned, wiped away a quick tear, and sat inside the taxi.

_And that's the end-I hope you enjoyed it. Sorry if you didn't like the ending._

_Nell_

_x_


	22. Waking Up

**Ok so I was thinking about my ending to this story last night and I realised that I'd done the wrong thing by ending it the way it did. Therefore- I thought about it today and came up with this finale chapter. I hope you've enjoyed reading this and I hope you enjoy the finale chapter and that you also agree with me on this, Thank you,**

**Nell **

**xxxx **

**Chapter 22**

**Waking Up**

"Sherlock?"

"Sherlock?"

"Sherlock?"

The name seemed to buzz around his head, though he couldn't quite make out what was being said.

"Sherlock?"

"Sherlock?"

Then like the click of fingers he realised it was his own name. Everything was slowly becoming clear, their was a bright light shining down into his eyes, he did his best to close his eyes to shield them from the blinding light.

"I think he's waking."

"Sherlock?"

He heard John's panicked voice say and in the background, another voice. The voice was sad and gloomy, whoever it was sounded dead themselves...as if they'd been crying. Another ear pricing noise filled his head. It was the sound of police sirens. The noise was distressing and the light was hurting his eyes.

"Thank God, he's awake!" John called over his shoulder; Sherlock looked up at his friend who smiled down at him in utter relief. Everything had come into perfect view, his senses fully restored. He was lying in an ambulance behind the National Portrait Gallery. He recognised the "shock" blanket that had been draped over his shoulders, staring at it he groaned and pulled it from over himself before trying to stand up on his feet, though he found himself being pulled back down, not just by John who sighed at him but also by somebody else who he refused to look at. Mycroft Holmes stood beside John with his usual umbrella in his right hand. Mycroft forced a quick smile at his brother and opened his mouth ready to speak.

"Now now Sherlock, you need rest." He ordered quietly turning to face John.

"I don't need your advice, thanks." Sherlock mumbled sarcastically. Mycroft shrugged and left the ambulance leaving John with Sherlock. Wait a second, Sherlock thought to himself, he shouldn't be here, he should be at 221b right now. He'd gotten a taxi to Baker Street just off Trafalgar Square. Page...Page was dead. The sudden thought caused Sherlock to leap from out of the ambulance and into the night. Sgt Donavan noticed his sudden movement and instantly alerted DI Lestrade who eyed Holmes from a distance.

"Sherlock, thank goodness you're alright!" Sherlock spun around to see a shaken Page leap straight into his arms. "I was so worried about you, thank you for saving me like that. I'm so sorry that any of this ever happened." She cried into his shoulder before steeping out of the hug and wiping her tears away. "I was with you in the ambulance, however your brother I think, pushed me out of the way." She told him glancing over at Mycroft who was discussing something with "that" woman who was always with him and texting on her mobile.

"But you died." Sherlock whispered. Page's smiled faded and she crossed her arms, screwing up her face. Sherlock was staring right at her, though he did not look at her. He was watching her die inside his mind. He'd held her in her dying minutes, they'd kissed.

"What?" She snapped breaking the visions from out of Sherlock's mind.

"What happened to me?" Sherlock order grasping her shoulders and shaking her a little. Page cried a little and shook her head.

"I don't know...it went dark and then the street lights came back on and he was gone. You came over to me and helped me out of the rope...and then it went black again and you were lying on the ground...passed out." She whispered as if he should know this. Sherlock stared ahead and grinned. Cleaver Moriarty...though technically Sherlock had won this one. He'd escaped without anyone dying...well at least nobody he cared about.

"I was drugged..." The words washed away into the cold air and he left Page's side and started walking. He walked past Sgt Donavan and Anderson who were now huddled together, the cold had finally started to chill them.

"Hey freak!" She called after him. "How's the shock?" She laughed, Sherlock turned away and ignored her stupidity, he couldn't be bothered with her constant drabble. Page watched after him and sent a rather evil glance in Donavan's direction who chose to act as if she'd not seen it. So none of it had happened, there had been no kiss. Sherlock, in a way, was somewhat glad by this. At least no hearts would be broken...again. Mycroft soon approached John once again who kept his voice low when speaking to him.

"Try not to let him get into anymore trouble, I do worry about him." He said. John chuckled and nodded his head knowing that nothing could stop Sherlock Holmes getting into trouble.


End file.
